


Come Home

by Flippedeclipse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flippedeclipse/pseuds/Flippedeclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the weight of a thousand worlds is too much to bear, even for Shepard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Well look at that, another kinkmeme fill. This one was excruciatingly difficult to write, many tears were shed and many feels were felt, and I'm still not completely satisfied but it'll do.
> 
> Here's the prompt:
> 
> Fem!Shep and Garrus have a really sweet, loving relationship. They make jokes about the 'apex predator turian' and the 'soft, squishy human'. They have nice, fluffy sex with lots of 'I Love Yous'.
> 
> Then the Reapers invade and it's all Sturm und Drang. Fem!Shep is a horrible combination of pissed off, frustrated, angry, depressed, exhausted, weary, and flat out spent. The war is taking a huge toll on her mentally and physically.
> 
> Garrus wants to comfort her, naturally. Shepard really wants the mantle of responsibility taken away from her, at least for a moment. She doesn't see their regular, if wonderful, fluffy sex cutting it. She really wants to be fucked senseless. But Garrus isn't too sure that will exactly solve the problem as she's in a pretty fragile state.
> 
> It all culminates with what begins as some hot and steamy fucking in the bathroom that quickly turns into an emotional release as Fem!Shep and Garrus watch their reactions to making love in the mirror.
> 
> Bonus points:
> 
> 1) Fem!Shep isn't called 'Shepard' during sex. I don't care what name you use, but it just seems weird to be called one's last name during such an intimate act.
> 
> 2) Shepard cries as part of her release. She might be a big, goddamn hero, but she's human, too, and she really needs to be human and have an emotional release after watching her homeworld and the rest of the galaxy burn.
> 
> Anyway, hope it entertains :)

                He's halfway within her when she pushes insistently against his abdomen and turns her head away.

 

                He doesn't know whether he's hurt, angry, confused, or some kind of irrational mix of all those things. "Jane?" he asks, keeping his voice steady, though it wavers a little in the back of his throat.

 

                "I..." she trails off, words failing her if the expression on her face is anything to go by. He waits for her to continue anyway. "Not this, Garrus." Rejection joins the soup of emotions, which become a tangible, hard lump in his throat and in the pit of his stomach. He's never fared well with rejection, not at the hand of his father, and not at the hand of his lover.

 

                He pulls out slowly, removes his weight from over her body, and rolls over onto his side, avoiding eye contact with her. Painful silence stretches between them, before he takes the chance and speaks his mind. "What's wrong?"

 

                She pulls in a sharp breath to steel herself, and he turns to look at her in that moment. The regret is evident in the lines of her face. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault." There's conviction in her voice, but he's having a hard time believing her. "Honestly."

 

                He looks away. "Tell me what's wrong."

 

                She's silent for a moment, her gaze resting on him. Her eyes flit away for a brief second before she speaks again. "This isn't enough." She looks up at him; her expression is passive, if slightly imploring. "I want to let go."

 

                He looks down at his own hands, before reaching forward and picking hers up in his. "Then tell me how to do it."

 

                The air in her lungs rushes out in a sigh, just as she intertwines her fingers with his. "Don't make love to me."

 

                It takes him just a moment to realize what she means, and his grip on her hand loosens of its own accord. "Do you really think that'll solve it?" he asks quietly. The words are meant to be sympathetic, but they come out harsher than he expected. Her fingers stiffen in his.

 

                "I do."

 

                There's no mistaking the set of her jaw and the resolution in her eyes, but he can't mirror the feeling. "It's a bandaid at best."

 

                She studies him for a moment, though when he meets her eyes they're blank and immeasurable. Damn her acting abilities and damn him for not being able to read through them.

 

                "Don't worry about it, then."

 

                "Shepard, look, it's not about -"

 

                She interrupts him by gently extracting her hand from his and moving off the bed, leaving him behind as she straightens and turns her back to him. One hand languidly pulls the elastics out of her mussed-up bun. He doesn't miss the lines of exhaustion along the set of her shoulders.

 

                "It's alright Garrus," she says, a weak smile gracing her face as she looks at him over her shoulder. "I just need a shower."

 

                Her body's far from frail, but it looks that way to him now as he watches her move up the steps, his eyes not leaving her until she's disappeared from view. The fish tank holds his attention briefly before he sits up and braces his elbows on his knees, his head hanging limply between his shoulders. He'll just have to wait until she's done so they can talk this mess out.

 

                Twenty minutes later, he still hasn't moved. Shepard's not in the habit of taking long showers, and this one's four times too long. He rises, makes his way upstairs and stops by the bathroom door. He's about to knock, but he pauses, his knuckles hovering over the surface as he considers his options.

 

                He hasn't refused her yet, not explicitly, and there's still the option of obliging her request or denying it. It's not the act itself that's bothering him, it's the reasons behind it, and he knows it's a temporary measure at best. Her issues run deeper than something than can be healed through a little domination in the bedroom, but he doesn't know how to convince her of that. The answer to his own dilemma becomes clear soon enough; it's better to bandage a wound, if only slightly, instead of letting it bleed out.

 

                She doesn't notice when he walks into the bathroom, not even when his feet clang against the tile underfoot. She's leaning against the wall, her eyes closed as the water streams against her face. He watches the rivulets dance across her body, steam rising from her skin, and he wonders absently just how hot the water is as he approaches her.

 

                He's only two steps away when she opens her eyes suddenly and turns to face him. "Hey, sorry I took so long, I'll get -" He closes the gap between them before she can speak further, and he barely registers the scalding hot water as he grips her waist and pulls her close, hovering his mouth just inches away from her own. She blinks up at him in surprise, as his arms wrap around her warm form and moulds her to his own body.

 

                "Don't," he says, as he grazes his mouth over the slope of her shoulder. His tongue flicks out to taste her skin, but all he can pick up is the tang of chlorine. "Let me help you." She's still for a moment, before she presses back into his body, and that's all he needs for confirmation.

 

                He walks her back against the wall wordlessly and trails soft bites down the length of her neck. She goes from hesitant to eager as her own hands explore his body, passing through the familiar motions as they trace the contours of his plates. Every touch is bittersweet for him, lined with the love he holds for her and the persistent guilt of not giving her body the devotion it deserves, but this was what she wanted, so that was what he would give her.

 

                Her mouth is anything but gentle against his as she pushes against him aggressively, their tongues warring in an erratic dance. He pins her hands with his own against the wall, his hips keeping hers in place, and he feels some of his reservations wash away with the water as he finds some semblance of enjoyment in the half-hearted struggle she puts up against the makeshift bonds.

 

                There's something uniquely exquisite about Shepard's body; it's not classically beautiful for a human or a turian, but it's become his definition of beauty over the nights he's been worshipping it. It's because of this that he feels both regret and thrill in his chest as his hands rake down her sides, leaving indents and angry red lines behind. It's not deep enough to be painful, but it'll leave a mark, if only temporary.

 

                He draws a shaky gasp from her throat as his mouth finds purchase on her breasts. He has to make a conscious effort to not dote, and instead excite. He's rough as he sucks and licks, and the moans that leave her lips are a new kind of sound that's both puzzling and refreshing. Her hands lace through his fringe and dig into the plates, and he can't stifle the groan he lets out against her skin.

 

                The water's scalding them both, but he barely registers it as she trails lower, then lower still, until his mouth's inches away from her folds. He chances a glance up at her and finds her own eyes, which are riveted on him, so wide and full of life again. Her lips are parted, her chest heaving for breath, and he can't remember seeing a more perfect thing in his life. Spirits, he's missed seeing her like this. He presses a gentle kiss against the triangle of flesh between her legs, a gesture he can't help doing despite the fact that now's not the time for loving caresses, and drops from his crouch to a kneel.

 

                "Breathe," he whispers against her skin, and so she does, her chest rising and falling in time with the pressure of his tongue against the outside of her folds. She tastes salty, though the water disguises the usual tangy aftertaste. One hand brings one thigh up to hook over his shoulder, exposing her a little more, but it's not enough. He nods his head upward toward the little shelf meant for bottles, and she understands instantly.

 

                Her hands latch on to the ledge for support, and his own hands push her hips against the wall. She's looking down at him and he's looking up at her when he pulls her other leg over his shoulder, lifting her right off the ground as he sets back on his task. She cries out above him as he buries his tongue into her, her thighs clenching around his head. He's relentless and unyielding in his assault, and never looks away from her. She's murmuring prayers to gods she doesn't believe in and his name's a staccato mantra on her lips, urging him on faster. His hand drops and finds her entrance, letting one finger push in; he nearly groans at the pure heat it's engulfed in. She's always felt good to him, better than that really, but there's an edge to it all this time, perhaps from the fact that he's not taking it slow, that everything's a heated blur of lust with little room left for love.

 

                He watches the muscles in her arms strain as she struggles to keep a grip on both the ledge and her sanity, but he decides that the latter shouldn't exist. Another digit slips in, and he wastes no time setting a fast pace that pulls and pushes rhythmically, his wrist going sore from the speed. Her moans dissolve to choked, muffled screams soon enough, and he knows she's close.

 

                "Come for me," he mutters between strokes of his tongue. "Let go."

 

                His name leaves her lips one last time before she obeys, and does so in a spectacular display of strained muscles and one long gasp. He has trouble breathing as her legs tighten around his neck, but he waits, his attention more focused on the captivating sight above him.

 

                He doesn't give her much time to cool down, as her feet find solid ground again and he rises up to meet her mouth with his. She's a little tired now, but Garrus isn't done, and neither is she. Still, he takes a moment to kiss her sweetly, hold her against him briefly before slipping her knee over his hip spur and opening her up for him again. She watches him wordlessly, and he's just as silent, because there's nothing for either of them to say. Her throat bobs under his mouth as he nips the skin over her windpipe, and he doesn't waste another second before sheathing himself in one fluid motion.

 

                It's addicting, watching her come apart like this. She's never struggled quite so much to keep her composure, and he's never felt this incessant need to just _fuck_ her. Her hands clasp his as he begins a fierce pace, and soon he's pushing into her with the force of his entire body. At any other time he would have worried about whether he was hurting her, but those thoughts barely entered his mind, because this was exactly what she wanted right now.

 

                Their eyes never leave each other as he picks up speed, the familiar sensation of her wrapped around him and tightening makes little fireworks go off in his head. Her words become incoherent blabber and he loves it, loves her, so much in this very moment. It's only a few more seconds before he watches the heat in her eyes turn into paralysis, and he knows time's stopped for her now. This time her orgasm is completely silent, though her mouth is open in a scream that doesn't leave her throat. He slows down but doesn't stop, dotting gentle, makeshift kisses across her face before his mouth meets hers and he swallows her scream.

 

                He gives her less time to regain her composure this time, because now he's completely fired up with the same passion that's singing through her veins. When her eyelids lift, her irises are reflecting the same fire as his, and that's all the confirmation he needs, as he grips her arms and turns her around until her ass is flush against his pelvis. One arm wraps around her waist and lifts her off her feet, and it's no easy feat because she's half-metal inside. Before she can say otherwise, her hips are pushing into the edge of the bathroom counter, and he's leaving red marks with his teeth along whatever skin he can find purchase on. All through his rush, he doesn't notice the way her spine stiffens when she looks straight forward.

 

                He wastes no time, pulling one of her knees up onto the counter and slipping into her easily, before lapping at the steam still rising off her shoulder. His pace isn't as frantic this time, but even so it's not until he realizes that she's been silent for half a minute in that his attention flickers to her face, and then what she's looking at. She's watching herself in the mirror.

 

                His eyeplates draw together slightly, his mandibles mimicking the motion, as he regards both of them through the glass. It's nothing that he hasn't seen before, it's just him and Shepard after all, but there's something surreal about it this time; perhaps it's a trick of the eye. Still, he finds himself dumbstruck, because it's them but not them at the same time. The exhaustion in her face is more apparent, the desperation he'd missed when he'd almost said no to her request was multiplied tenfold in the eyes of her counterpart. It's here that he dwells, that he feels a little nagging voice in the back of his head as he's halfway buried inside her and their bare forms are pressed against one another. It takes an almost-silent sigh on her part for it all to click together in his brain, and the realization hits him full-force in the gut. She needs him, just as much as he needs her. His world's shaken a little, and the only thing to ground him is the woman looking back at him in the mirror.

 

                "Keep going," she says suddenly, still looking forward. He's startled out of his reverie as he watches her lips move to make the words come out. He's lost the will to just fuck her now though, not when his mind's filled with the clarity she's brought to him. He doesn't look away as he turns his head to press his mouthplates against her cheek, his reflection doing the same deliberate motions. His mouth stays there as he pushes into her slowly, feeling each inch of her against him. He watches her counterpart part her lips and let a stifled breath escape, and for a moment he's tempted to reach out and touch this other Shepard. He compromises by holding the real Shepard more tightly to him, before pulling out just as slowly, until just his tip was nestled inside her. Her breathing flows in time with his, as he pushes back in. He's broken his promise to not make love to her, but it's impossible for him to do otherwise as he stares at her reflection, captivated by the immense emotion rolling off of her. For the first time in months, he feels like she's there, really _there_ , with the Commander persona peeled off to reveal the woman underneath. She's tired, angry, down-spirited, and hurt, but she's there, and he's with her to protect her through her vulnerability.

 

                Her body is unmoving as he settles into his favourite pattern; shallow, shallow, deep, repeat. Every so often her breath would hitch, but there's no real pleasure in this, only the seeping of a heart heavy with burden no person should have to carry. With each of his slow movements he peels away the pain of another thousand deaths, of another friend lost to a war that should have never been. He's cracking the casing she's been hiding in, and though she's still fighting, he's not going to let this go on any longer.

 

                "Let go," he whispers to her reflection, and her body shudders violently at his words. "I'm here."

 

                Her resistance melts away just a little more, but it's not enough, not yet. He pushes in a little deeper, and the ghost of a moan leaves her lips. Neither of them can force themselves to look away from their reflections.

 

                "Jane," he says again, his voice flanging almost painfully around the word. "It's okay."

 

                "Garrus," she chokes out, and the sound is a faint echo of a sob, strained with the edge of a whine.

 

                "Let go," he says once more, and he times his words perfectly with one more thrust fully inside her until he's in up to the hilt. Her face crinkles, then contorts, her eyes squeezing shut from the pain that he can feel too. It takes one more push to send her over the edge, into the infinite void she's been struggling to get away from for so long. Her body freezes before the erratic heaving of sobs swell in her chest, and the only sound he can hear is her soft crying. He clutches her to his body, cradling her inside as her walls tighten around him, and she simply gives in to the agonizing tears and blissful euphoria. He watches the tears streak her face, darkening the colour of her skin wherever they go.

 

                "I love you," he murmurs into her ear as her cries become fully-blown sobs. "I love you." He repeats it again and again, finally looking away from their reflection to turn her head with one hand and kiss her, letting her cry against his mouth. The tears on her face press onto his, and the moisture clings to him like she does, like she's hanging on to dear life. His own release comes, but it's muted and invisible amongst everything else.

 

                It's a very long time before her sobs turn into choked cries, then to whimpers, until finally she's pulling in air desperately, but he holds her through it all. The people in the mirror lie forgotten, as he only has eyes for the woman in his arms. It's longer still before her breathing evens out and her eyes drift closed, and it's at that moment that he finally moves.

 

                He slips out of her and turns her in his arms, until her head is resting on his chest. He's careful as he leans down and wraps one arm behind her knees, the other holding her back securely, as he lifts her off her feet effortlessly. She makes a small sound of protest, though it's weak and drowned out by the dregs of exhaustion latching on to her. He shushes her softly, then carries her spent and drenched form out of the bathroom and down the steps.

 

                He sets her down gently on the bed and she blinks up at him blearily for a moment, words dying on her lips when she tries to speak. He reaches forward and shuts her eyes with the pads of his fingers. She's drifting off already, and he takes a moment to just memorize her. He presses his mouth against her temple; her eyelashes flutter against his mandibles.

 

                "I'm here," he consoles, before pulling the sheets over her and slipping in beside her. His arms encircle her and bring her close, until there's no gaps left between his plates and her skin. There's emptiness now, but the good kind, as he just holds her.


End file.
